monotony of change.

It's the end of January.

I returned from Italy on the morning of the 8th, and the following day's afternoon I moved to my second host family.

Normally, I'd write and write about the changes in my life, but change has become so normal that when something new happens, I don't feel its excitement and the need to express it.

It also doesn't help that my other hobbies have over-ruled writing.

For example, I now have a guitar that I can keep until the end of the year; I borrowed it off a neighbor of my first host family. However, at my first house I couldn't really play much because my host sisters really enjoyed their silence. That meant I could only play in about 15 minute intervals and never after 9pm. Seeing it that 15 minutes is a minute in regards to playing guitar and at home I usually play before I go to sleep,

and then consequently this happens:

I really couldn't play at all. Though now, my host family doesn't mind in the least and my host sister understands the need as she plays piano as well. Consequently, I've been playing all the time, which of course has its negative effects as I choose it over school work and tend to seclude myself by playing. Nonetheless, I did the same thing in the US, so the downfalls provide a feeling of home.

Another hobby that's taken away from my writing is reading, and unfortunately, it's not reading in French. Currently my English class is reading East of Eden by John Steinback, but the abridged version of course. Though my teacher wanted me to actually participate in the class, especially since "John Steinback is an American writer of German decent, just like you Miss Funk," so he bought me the original version. I'd also mentioned I wanted to read 1984 by George Orwell, so he bought me that as well. As he handed me the two books on our last day of school before vacation with a smiling "Merry Christmas", I couldn't help but to return an even brighter "Pennsylvanian smile" (as he always refers to it). They were by far my favorite Christmas presents.

Well, at least my favorite tangible Christmas presents. Italy was unforgettable, so unforgettable that I have yet to really write about it because I feel my photos (slideshow above) and memory will suffice. I was welcomed in Rome on the night of the 29th by one of those wonderful airport hugs and a family dinner full of smiles and misunderstandings. My friend Sabina is an only child whose mother can speak English but not her father. Therefore, at dinner we'd talk in English but then feel guilty for leaving Sabina's dad out of the conversation, so we'd translate everything back to him. For once, I wasn't the one in need of the translation, but sooner than later, that need was constant as the next day Sabina and I jumped in a car with her friends and headed off to Tuscany. For four days, we, 15 Italian teenagers and 1 American teenager, stayed in a house in the countryside of Tuscany to celebrate New Year's Eve. We played cards and foozball alot, and I realized how far a person can communicate with simply body language.

I also realized how lucky I am to have chosen Belgium for my exchange. I'd always thought that the open-minds of Belgians regarding foreigners and the English language were simply the same as other Europeans. Though, my stay in Italy made me realize that Italians in general are nearly the opposite. The typical "Italian" stands firmly by the idea that the Italian language is all they'll ever need; they may realize the importance of English and other languages but don't bother to learn them. However, for parents who decide they want their child to learn English, the price is quite expensive. My friend's mother, who is more or less revered since she knows English, teaches the language in one-on-one sessions for fifty euro an hour, all without having a degree. As Sabina's family understands the growing importance of English, they had decided to send Sabina on an exchange to the US so she could learn the language. Nonetheless, none of Sabina's friends could understand why she was doing the exchange; they didn't see the point in it. On the contrary, in Belgium, more or less every student does some sort of exchange to learn English; it's just an average part of education. Therefore, after adapting to the Belgian mindset, I had been more than surprised by that of the Italians.

Also, Sabina's family had told me about the exchange student from Canada they had hosted while Sabina was in America. Her name was Marjorie: she was short, blonde, and blue-eyed like me. In other words, she was the typical "dream girl" of Italian boys since in Italy, everyone has dark hair and dark eyes, and it's always human nature to prefer what is different. (During my stay in Italy, I almost felt watched as I'd be the only person on the metro or on the bus with blonde hair, or at least natural blonde hair. I've never gotten so much attention from guys in my life.) Therefore, all of Marjorie's classmates had thought she was pretty and gave her attention the first few days, but then before long, they more or less rejected her since she didn't speak their language. They didn't even try to communicate with her; they simply gave up. This really just amazed me because my classmates in Belgium were the opposite: my first day of school they accepted me, and they tried their hardest to communicate with me. They never gave up.

All of this just made me realize that I've really made the right choice by spending my year in Belgium. It may not be significantly different from the US, but it's better than being different in a negative manner such as in Marjorie's case. Though sometimes I do wish that I had chosen a Latin American country where I could lounge on the beach all day and actually see sunshine; but I really don't think I would have succeeded with Spanish since I can't roll my R's

Sunshine would be really great though. People aren't kidding when they say it only rains in Belgium.
Rain, rain, go away. Please come back another day.Another day when Jordann has left your country.

Which reminds me: I have to choose a return date soon. I've never felt like more of a walking contradiction. I want to stay; I want to go. I have to choose a date to love and to hate. Who wants to be the lucky winner? I think it'll be a date I'll always remember.

Like my birthday, the day after tomorrow. The day after tomorrow it's January 25th. Didn't January just start?

I need to stop wasting time talking about the speed of time
and I need to stop rambling.
I'm rambling.
Goodbye.

roma.

Oh yeah, forgot to add in there that I'm going to board a plane this afternoon and head off to Italy for ten days.
Better yet, I'm going to visit and stay with one of my good friends, Sabina, who was an exchange student in the US last year.  She lives in Rome, and we're going to Tuscany for New Year's Eve.

It's just like a 10-day youth exchange in Italy, something that Sabina and I had always talked about as I was going to Belgium and she was returning home.  We'd both be in Europe, so we'd have to visit eachother.

But in all honesty, I never thought it would happen.

I'm going to see her in four and a half hours. 
Is this reality?

plaisirs d'hiver.

 

belgië, zijn muziek.

I stood in front of the doors of Woudec in Alsemberg.
It had taken me fifteen minutes to walk there- five minutes more than usual due to the frequent slide of my feet on the icy sidewalks.
The doors opened up for me, and as my legs rushed in, ready to find refuge from the cold, I heard the common beep which signaled my arrival.

I raised my eyes from the ground as I walked forward and saw an elderly woman speaking with an employee of the store.
"So is it supposed to work this way?"
"Yes, that's right. Here, let me show you."

While thinking about how much I'd liked the employee's accent, I realized he was talking in English. They were talking in English.

I continued to the counter, waiting for the person in front of me to finish. In his hands was a Nikon DSLR, and he was saying something along the lines of "Mijn camera werkt niet goed."

At that moment, the other employee who had finished showing the woman how to use her cell phone walked up to the counter and smiled at me.
Returning the smile I said, "Bonjour, j'ai besoin de développer des photos."

He then led me over to the machine for the instant prints, and explained to me how to go through the process. We spoke in French, but at the same moment he was suggesting something to the man with the camera in Flemish.

Despite what most people think, I really like the sound of Flemish.

Something I've realized recently is that comprehension takes away from the beauty of a language. If you know the meaning of the words, you listen to understand them and forget about their natural beauty, natural rhythym. I used to be awed by the sound of French; I was so enraptured by the music of words although they had no meaning. But now the language is so common, so everyday that it's lost its essence of beauty. Though if I turn my comprehension off and just listen, I can hear it. This method pleases me momentarily, but then afterwards I always get the blank stares of "You really didn't understand what I just said?"

But I'm in this tiny store, only about as big as two bedrooms, yet three languages surround me: English in my head; French from my mouth, his mouth; and Flemish from theirs.
And at that moment I thought of how much I'm going to miss this, this diversity of language, when I return to the US.

Everything I read will be written in English.
Everything I hear will be in English.
Each word I say will be, in English.

I'm not sure how I'll be able to handle such monotony.
Or how I'll feel when each word I say is right, proper, unaccented.
I'll be able to speak freely, and I'll lose the smiles that are often developped in response to my words.

Is it really already the end of December?

-0℃❅☃

my class:
my host family:
our christmas tree: (Mom, I didn't know what to do with myself as I was helping to decorate the tree. I could put the ornaments anywhere I wanted to! Yet, I did have the tendency to direct where each ornament should have been placed, but I kept the dictating to myself. I figured that's only your job. :p)

the snow and his smile.

As I’m sitting down to write this, I’m experiencing the nervous feeling of time passing all too quickly.

This is my fifth month in Belgium. I’ve been here for four months in total, but this is the debut of my fifth month, which is uncomfortably close to the halfway point. I tend to wonder if I’m truly making the best of my time, especially since it’s being dispensed at the same rate as my money.

At this point, I find myself focusing on my studies more than anything since my exams commence the week after next, but at the same time I think that maybe I should be spending my time exploring the country rather than in my room memorizing its politics. Most other exchange students laugh at the idea of school and succeeding, but I actually feel like I’m capable and that I should try, especially since this year counts for me in the United States. Though, in the long run, will I regret spending my time gaining knowledge I will more than likely soon forget rather than wandering about the country, taking trains and introducing my taste buds to chocolate, beer, and waffles that they could never meet in America?

But I can’t say that I haven’t experienced the things I’ve wanted to. To me, it’s not necessarily visiting every city and tasting all the food which makes an exchange; it’s more so that which can happen every day. It’s what I’ll always remember although most other people probably won’t, like the first snow of the season, everyone with pink noses which barely peek over at least two cozy, knitted scarves; the constant sound of sniffling; fingers huddling in the shelter of mittens; and permanent smiles, white as the snow which caused them. It’s, later that day, being chased by the threat of a snowball clenched in my best friend’s hand, obstinacy eventually causing it to soar directly toward my already numbed cheek, leading to both of us tumbling through the snow in a war with no final victory but the teacher’s smile as we entered the next class powdered white with rosy cheeks.

It’s being told “Appy Tanksgiving” throughout the day, making it a little better that I was going to school for the first time on the last Thursday of November, and then teaching my host sister how to make pumpkin pie that evening. It’s hearing grace in Spanish, French, Hungarian, Chinese, and English as four American exchange students surrounded a table bearing stuffing, roast beef, mashed potatoes, and cranberry sauce they had prepared themselves, introducing the tradition of Thanksgiving to five different nationalities.

These are the things which make me happy, just the little things. If I'm feeling down, I think, "Jordann, you're an exchange student in Belgium, and you're here because you earned it," and I just feel better.

However, I have been dealing with more melancholy feelings than usual the past couple weeks. I've realized that I don't necessarily feel sad from being away from home on a regular basis, but I do when I realize that things are changing when I'm not there. It's as if in my head I have an image of this world, exactly the way it was before I left. I know that in time, I'll once again live there, which comforts me. But when I realize that my world's changing, I become overwhelmed. My world is becoming unfamiliar, and there's nothing I can do to change it. The image in my head no longer provides comforts, but fear instead.

I know that my best friends are changing; I know that my aunt and uncle are moving away. But what can I do about it? My mind is adamant to change, but it's going to happen whether she wants it or not.

So, Jordann, just be tough. Focus on now, not the past or the future.
Focus on the saying the words "littérature" and “amoureux”. Focus on the smile of the snowman you and your host sisters built in the backyard. Focus on finding your gym bag you forgot on the bus.

Just laugh, like always.
Smile to just smile.

je te promet.

What to write? I feel like I should express something new, something different about Belgium that I've yet to share, but my thoughts are blank. Maybe if I just write aimlessly, ideas will meet me along the way.

Tomorrow's Thanksgiving
and my amount of indifference worries me. Naturally, I should be longing to be home with my family and friends, smiling and laughing at jokes I actually understand, staring at a table overwhelmed by plates bearing turkeys in pilgrim hats buried by prepared home recipes, or rather those of Martha Stewart and Paula Dean.

Naturally.

But I just don't register anything. I think the speed of time confuses nostalgia. I don't know what home is anymore. "Chez moi ici", "chez moi aux Etats-Unis". Chez moi.. chez qui?
Though, it's not that it really bothers me. En fait, it's actually a little comforting.
I've found "home" in myself. Home to me is now the feeling of familiarity and comfort, not necessarily walls and a roof.

I'm at home when my headphones plug my ears as their red wires tangle in my hair,
or when I'm wandering without a destination, my camera resting with curiosity around my neck.
I'm at home when my back rests against the bark of a lonely tree and I can sing to only him;
I can inhale the new air of spring, crisp air of fall, or brisk air of winter
and watch the sun or the clouds or the rain or the birds,
whoever decides to join me that day.

Home is an escape, which to me is simplicity.

I don't think anyone here really understands that, that I find happiness in the simplest things.
It doesn't bother me when I eat lunch with no one but my ipod and rooted best friend. It's relaxing to be in solitude de temps en temps.

It's great and all that you're truly concerned about my well-being, but I'm not going to cry in a corner because you have plans to eat with someone else. I'm not as fragile as you think, I promise.

À qui je parle?

Okay, I'm done expressing the sorrows of my pride,
which then brings me to another thought:

to be an exchange student, you need to let go of "you".

Well, at least at first. Initially, you need to talk and try to make friends, but not be frustrated that you lack personality. If you aim to express yourself and show your true character, you'll only feel unsatisfied by your inability.

I always find myself trying to be Jordann, but I can't. At first, I was so bothered by it, but over time, I realized that it's just the nature of a language barrier.

Ironically, the inability to express character builds it. I find myself feeling more content with who I am each day although others don't truly realize it.

I just constantly think, aimlessly yet deeply;
consequently consuming my time.
Par exemple, I've been writing this post for nearly two hours now because of my thoughts

who now think it's time to go.